Friendship
by child-dragon
Summary: Mordecai has been left behind by his companions with a broken ankle. When he rescues a stranger left to die by bandits, the two reluctantly become friends as the only other person to talk to in Pyrestone is Dr. Zed. However, on Pandora, everyone's history is suspect, and Mordecai begins a quest to find out if his friend's story is actually the truth.
1. The Stranger

Mordecai had trained himself to notice details. He saw the gunman hiding on a perch, the flash of metal in the underbrush that concealed a man with a grenade. He saw the things his companions missed, and because of this, he saw the form twining about on a rope against the backdrop of one of the turbines at Zephyr Substation. The hunter cursed and threw the runner into a tight turn, dragging it off the remains of the road and into the rough terrain, sending a dust cloud billowing behind the rear tires as he jammed the throttle and roared it through a narrow gully between rock ridges towards the figure. Noisy entrances had their advantages and disadvantages, and Mordecai was in such a mood that he preferred to draw anything hostile out by the roar of the engine and then deal with them in a more direct manner, such as with the wheels of the runner, or his revolver should it come to that. Scooter made a bit too much noise about the last time he came home with the remains of a grenade lodged in the axle for Mordecai's liking.

The surrounding area remained still, even with two passes in a tight circle around the turbine in question. Satisfied, the hunter brought the runner to an abrupt stop. He drove it rough, he knew, but in his mind the machine was designed for such things and there was no one in the gunner seat to bitch at him. He so rarely got to drive. In the minds of Roland, Brick, and Lilith; a sniper belonged in the gunner's seat, always. However, today they were not here. Today they were off dealing with some problem elsewhere and Mordecai was left at home to guard the fort.

It was because he couldn't keep up. Suppressing an irritated snarl at that thought, he unbuckled himself and gingerly levered himself out of the seat, past the roll bars, and landed himself lightly on the ground. His ankle flared in dull pain at the movement, a reminder as to just why he was here roaming the outskirts of Fyrestone by himself. He'd taken a nasty tumble on their last outing – a grenade had exploded just below the ledge he was perched and the resulting minor avalanche had taken him down along with the shelf of rock he was laying on, belly down in the dirt, sniper rifle against his shoulder. He'd yelled and cursed for what felt like an age until the other three came to dig him out, and then his yelling had turned into a stoic attempt at muffling any sound of pain as Roland probed at his chest and leg to see the extent of the injuries.

"Shields aren't meant to survive a cliff being dropped on them," Lilith commented, watching the scene impassively.

"Ankle is broken," Roland announced, "Probably some ribs too."

And with that, he jabbed Mordecai in the arm with a health vial to keep him quiet and left him there for Brick to shoulder and carry. Lilith carried his sniper rifle and walked in the rear, glaring at Mordecai the entire trip back, as if he had deliberately planned for the cliff to collapse on him or something. Mordecai, for his part, only hoped that the health vial would wear off and he'd faint in pain before they got back to Fyrestone, just to make her hawk-eyes go away.

It took a few days, but he was back on his feet now. The three had left him behind anyway and privately, the hunter had to admit this was wise. While he waited to heal he spent his time sniping at skags for the fun of it, but one could only stare down the gullet of those abominations across the barrel of a rifle for so long. That was when he borrowed the runner, and now he stood leaning heavily on its side with one hand, gazing at the figure affixed to the rope.

It was a man, stripped naked and badly beaten, the rope wound about his chest and strung around a bolt in the metal surface of the turbine. Astonishingly, he was also still breathing, which was a surprise for someone that had most likely been caught by the bandits. He wasn't a local as far as Mordecai knew, but Dr. Zeb would be able to tell for certain. The first task was to get him down, which wasn't as easy as it sounded as the man had been hung well out of reach for someone on the ground. Normally, Mordecai would just climb the turbine. He was agile enough to get a short way up, just to the point where he could have cut the man down with his sword. With his ankle as it was, that was out of the option. Sighing, Mordecai drew his revolver and took aim. At this range the shot would be impossible to miss, but it seemed like cheating somehow. Perhaps that was just the frustration at his busted ankle speaking. Mordecai exhaled, almost casually, and at the pause between breaths he pulled the trigger. The recoil rocked the weapon back in his hand with an easy familiarity. Some thought him weak, on account of his lean frame. His muscles were like cords of metal though, wound tight over narrow bones on a body that allowed for no fat to take residence. He had the metabolism of a shrew, burning through fuel at a phenomenal rate and leaving only a lean strength behind. Pandora suited him well. They were both stripped down to nothing but the essentials of life.

The man hit the ground with a heavy whump and Mordecai bared his teeth in a hiss. Knowing his luck, he'd just broken the bastard's ankle as well with that fall. There was no helping it. He couldn't be expected to catch, after all. The hunter limped over, eying the man's injuries with a critical eye. The bruises were mostly on his torso, centered on his chest, stomach, and the space between his shoulder blades on the back. They were darkening to black and purple with hints of green at the edges, like some sort of moss growing under his skin. His face sported a busted nose, the lips were crusted with dried blood, and both eyes were swollen black. More blood was flaking off the rope where it was bound about his chest and Mordecai stooped to cut this free. The lines of the cord was imprinted on the man's skin and it had cut through the flesh where it sat over the ribs. The man groaned, moving his head weakly, and Mordecai reached for a water flask at his hip.

"Steady now," the hunter said brusquely, "Give it a moment, then get the hell up. I'm not carrying your naked hide back into town."

By now his eyes were open, wincing at both the pain and the light. He took the water flask and drank eagerly. After a moment Mordecai took it back. There was no point in letting the stranger make himself sick with too much too quickly.

"Bandits?" he asked the man.

"Aye. Jumped me at the gate."

Mordecai frowned severely. He thought that had been dealt with already. Dealt with, and then some, to encourage the bandits to not try blockading the road ever again. Apparently they needed another lesson.

"Get up. Let's go."

Mordecai rose, limping back to the runner and hauling himself into the driver's seat. He watched out of the corner of the eye to ensure the man got the point that the sniper was not going to wait around for him. He did, and gingerly drug himself upright and wove an unsteady path towards the vehicle. Mordecai averted his eyes then, he had no desire to stare at some random naked stranger in the middle of the forsaken desert. He merely waited until the weight shifted to indicate that he was secure in the gunner's seat, and then gave a vicious smile. He threw the throttle open and drove like there was hell at his tail, with absolutely no regard to his battered passenger.

* * *

"He's not staying here," Dr. Zed said flatly, seemingly oblivious to the morose look on his 'patient's' face.

"Don't be like that," Mordecai replied, his tone easy and conversational. He stood a short distance away, leaning against the wall just where the tin roof of the building ended and the arid sand began.

The man in question was named Hetter, he said, and he was simply trying to reach Fyrestone and see if the rumors that the town was reviving was true and if there was a life to be made here. The bandits had other ideas and had jumped him, robbed him, stripped and beaten him and then left him to die in the reflected sunlight. Zed hadn't been happy to see Mordecai dropping the stranger on his doorstep, complaining that the med vendor was right there and they didn't need to be involving him at all, what with his lack of a medical license and all.

"We got bandit problems again," Mordecai had hissed in response, and that was enough to gain the doctor's sullen assistance. Now Hetter was tended to – for what little he needed – and sat wearing some spare clothes from Dr. Zed as Mordecai's much-repaired spare outfits were far too small.

"Look, there's plenty of empty buildings round here," Zed retorted, jabbing a finger for emphasis, "Put him up there."

"How many of them are habitable?" Mordecai replied. Hetter was just looking increasingly desperate, having the two men argue over his head like this.

"Yours."

"I share quarters with a beserker the size of a truck, a psychopath witch, and a man that won't stop talking in military slang and leaves grenades littered around like candy. I found one under the pillow of my cot the other day. Hetter, you want to bunk with us?"

Hetter seemed thrilled to be included at the conversation, but that dissolved into a frantic shake of the head for 'no.'

"Fine," Zed growled, "He can bunk with me." Mordecai smiled. "For a price."

Mordecai stopped smiling and frowned dourly at Hetter.

"I ain't spending my hard-earned money on this son-of-a-bitch," he said, "Already spent enough for that health vial."

"I can work for my board," Hetter said hopefully, "At least until I get one of the spare buildings cleared out."

"You'll need a gun to do that," Mordecai said, "I'll bring one back when I get done putting bullets in those bandit's skulls. The gate, you said?"

He was turning to leave. Behind him, he heard Hetter shifting nervously on the table.

"Yeah," Hetter replied, "At the gate."

That was all Mordecai needed to know. He whistled for Bloodwing as soon as he was in the light and a shadow flitted from the roof of the building to perch on his shoulder. He'd walk. His ankle was feeling better and he needed to strengthen the quickly-healing bone. The runner was too noisy and Mordecai wanted to be discreet. His companions were out in the field without him and he needed a reprise – laying on his belly in the dirt with a hostile loitering in the cross-hairs of his sight should do the trick.

* * *

_Author's note: I've just barely started playing this game, but I absolutely adore Mordecai so far. This was going to be a short story originally, but I am incapable of keeping things actually short apparently, and in the interest of staying within typical chapter lengths I'm breaking it into pieces. Enjoy._


	2. The Hunter

Mordecai had been out for hours. He was nestled between some rocks, concealed by the coarse brush, his rifle across his knees. Bloodwing had settled himself close to his legs, the leathery wings drawn up over his head, and had promptly gone to sleep. There was no movement from the gate and he started to wonder if perhaps Hetter had mislabeled the landmark. Or perhaps the bandits had grown clever and realized that if they remained stationary, Mordecai would come and kill them before they even figured out where the bullets were coming from. He smiled to himself at that. He'd remain here, then, until he was tired of it. That could take a long time. Mordecai did not consider himself a patient man but this was a different sort of patience – it led to a goal. There was a purpose to it, and with that purpose wrapped tight he could wait the seemingly endless hours of the day.

His patience did not go unrewarded. On the fifth hour of his watch there was movement from along the road and Mordecai slumped lower in his hiding spot, drawing the rifle off his knees and positioning it against his shoulder. His one hand supported the stock, the other fluttered over the scope to set the magnification range. The auto-adjustment would do the rest once his targets were in sight. Then his fingers fell to the trigger, the metal cool even through his gloves. Bloodwing stirred to alertness at the change in his master.

There were four of them, walking in a staggered line that spanned the width of the road. They had their weapons ready, save for the one on the far right, who carried his gun over one shoulder. There were markings on the masks they wore and Mordecai recognized the insignia. They belonged to the group he and his companions had just finished throwing out of Fyrestone, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. Now they were back for a second try and from the looks of things, whoever was now in charge was throwing his greenest recruits out there to test the waters.

"All too easy," Mordecai murmured to himself and laughed under his breath. He'd felt – before he came to Pandora – that perhaps there was something _wrong_ with him for taking such enjoyment in this, that perhaps he was as twisted as the other three in that he saw this as a challenge, as a thrill. He couldn't quite call it sport. This was far too serious to be such a thing and he struggled to find a word that defined it for him.

It was an allure, a primal struggle that reduced a man to blood and instinct, and he sat on the surface with only the cold immutability of a rifle between him and his opponent. Should that fail – should he fail – then it would be his blood scattered across the sands. He thought that perhaps this was not _natural, _that he should not take such pleasure in testing himself in a way that pitted life against life. That his worth should not be measured by the dead. These were the thoughts that came in the quiet of the night, late when everyone else was asleep and he sat alone, cleaning the rifle barrel over and over.

That was before Pandora. Now, there was no doubt. This was right. This was good. This was how it was supposed to be.

The cross-hair wavered across the target. Mordecai did not try and force his aim to be still. When the round top of the bandit's head drifted into the red circle he pulled the trigger and watched the body fall back a step, swaying as if drunk, everything above the shoulders vanishing into a fine red spray. Then the body toppled to the ground and the bandits broke into a run for cover, any cover.

"Go, Bloodwing!" Mordecai hissed. The bird launched itself into the air. It could give away his position but Mordecai wasn't concerned. There was plenty of distance between him and the bandits and if it came to close combat, he had a revolver and his sword.

The sight of the gun drifted easily across the road, towards where a bandit crouched behind a rock. Mordecai knew not to rush these things. The opportunity would come. Here, the bandit's back was not quite behind cover, and Mordecai aimed for a space where the spine should be. He fired again and the body vanished from sight. There were screams now, ones that went on and on, and Mordecai doubted he was responsible for them. He swung his rifle barrel to the right, resting the sight briefly on the third bandit that was down in the middle of the road. Wings fluttered above the man's head and he flailed futilely at Bloodwing. The bird had latched his talons onto the man's face, claws cracking through the goggles and into the vulnerable eyes, and now he ripped at the bandit's throat with his beak. The man's shrieks ended in a gurgle that Mordecai was too far away to hear, but he knew what it sounded like. It was a familiar sound.

The fourth made the mistake of popping out of cover to fire at Bloodwing. He walked at a steady advance, his gun going off in short bursts that sent a line of bullets tracing past Bloodwing and landed a slug or four into his companion's torso. The body jerked and lay still. Bloodwing screamed his hate at being disturbed from a meal in response.

"You do not fuck with my bird," Mordecai hissed, and fired.

The bullet ripped through the man's abdomen. That caught Bloodwing's attention, and the bird abandoned his current prey to hop over to the bandit, pecking uncertainly at the now-exposed belly. The man shrieked and reached for his dropped gun. Mordecai frowned as the bandit's fingers closed about the stock and reluctantly fired his rifle again, this time landing the bullet into the skull and putting the bandit out of his agony earlier than the sniper would have preferred. Still, four men dead, and not a shot had been fired in the right direction. He pushed himself to his feet, laughing aloud.

Bloodwing was busy gorging himself by the time Mordecai reached the four bodies. He'd already pulled out the eyes on the one bandit and was now working on disemboweling the second. The third bandit – the first he had shot – was unscathed save for his head being blown in all directions. The sand was turning sticky with blood. And the fourth... was still alive. Mordecai regarded him impassively, then crouched and worked his fingers under the edge of the man's hood. The bandit didn't struggle. The sniper's bullet had cut his spine and both knew that such an injury was likely not survivable on Pandora. Especially not for a bandit.

"You're an ugly one," Mordecai remarked, drawing the hood off and staring down at the man, "Your momma drop you on your face as a babe or you just born this way?"

The bandit spat at Mordecai. The sniper sneered in response and drew his revolver from the holster at his waist.

"I'd leave you as a warning to your friends, but we've left plenty of warnings," Mordecai sighed, standing and taking aim, "You'll serve just as well as a corpse as a live messenger, and I'm feeling generous today."

He fired. The bandit's head snapped back, the top blown out in a wet spray. Mordecai's work was almost done here. He'd promised to bring Hetter back a pistol, so he'd have something to clear out the local wildlife with and not bother Dr. Zed any longer. After a moment of thought, Mordecai found the pistol that had the most blood sprayed on it, and took that one with him.

* * *

Hetter was up on the watchtower when Mordecai returned. He remained there, watching as the sniper slowly climbed up to join him, his wiry arms straining to push himself up along the beams. His ribs twinged but Mordecai knew it wouldn't be nearly as painful as trying to climb on his injured ankle. Finally, he reached the top platform, and sprawled on the opposite end of it as Hetter, arranging his rifle across his chest. Hetter wore goggles now, which Mordecai recognized as an old pair of Zed's. He'd been there when Zed cracked the lens and the resulting tirade of cursing had been quite memorable.

"I brought you a souvenir," Mordecai said, loosely tossing the pistol at Hetter. It skidded across the sheet metal and stopped just beside the man.

"It's, uh – thank you."

"You should always keep your weapons clean and in good repair. I suggest stripping that thing down and making sure all the bits of skull and brain are wiped off."

Deep in his heart, Mordecai knew he was being an asshole, but he really didn't care.

"So is it really just you five here in Fyrestone?" Hetter asked, gazing out over the town.

"There's some farmer not far from here, but otherwise, yeah, just us. Zed is a great conversationalist, isn't he?"

"He's something."

Mordecai's lips twisted into a thin smile.

"So how did you hear that Fyrestone is reviving now?" Mordecai asked.

"Rumor. Sometimes bandits come into town as normal folk, you know, and they talk. I'm not exactly welcome at home anymore so I figured I'd head out and see for myself."

"Kill the wrong person? Sleep with the wrong woman?"

"Something like that." He turned the pistol over in his hands. "Where's the other three then?"

"Out," Mordecai growled, "Chasing the latest lead. I got left behind."

"How come?"

"Bunch of rock fell on me, busted up some ribs and an ankle. Brick carried me the whole way back on his shoulder like a sack of flour. Fuckin' humiliating."

"You get along well with them?"

Mordecai shrugged as best he could while laying on his back. Bloodwing started picking at the ends of one of his braids and the sniper hissed at the bird to make him quit.

"Well enough," he said, "Lilith is damn creepy. I mean, I like killing people too, but she's positively giddy. Roland and Brick ain't so bad. I get them. And Brick-"

He hesitated. It felt odd, talking like this. There hadn't been a moment where he could just sit and talk about his adventures with someone. The other three didn't count as they were all present for everything and Dr. Zed was generally disinterested in the dramatic retellings that Mordecai preferred. It was nice to have someone quietly listening.

"-so this one time," Mordecai continued, "we were out and came across this skag den. I'd already shot the one skag standing guard over it and Lilith was bitching up a storm about how much of a gyp it was that we got a defunct skag den with only one bastard to shoot in it. So I'm ignoring her and Roland is off scouting ahead when we notice that Brick has his head stuck into the damn den itself. Who goes sticking their head into a skag den, seriously? So that's when Lilith hears the noises coming from inside – like this cross between a kitten mewling and a dog trying to gargle – and we realize that there's a whole nest of _baby skags_ in there. And Brick is about to adopt the whole damn lot of them."

"Which one is Brick?" Hetter asked in the pause.

"The big one. The guy that likes to punch people just as much as I like to shoot them. He's got a soft spot for dogs, see, and apparently skags will do when he's in puppy withdraw. So I'm thinking, shit, I'm not dealing with a herd of baby skags. That's when Roland gets back from scouting around the bend and Brick pulls his head out of the den and starts yelling for Roland to come see what he's found. So I take the opportunity and chuck a grenade in."

"What?!"

Mordecai nodded serenely.

"Damn straight, I threw a grenade in. Solved that problem pretty tidily."

"And Brick let you get away with this?"

The sniper hesitated. This wasn't a part of the story he particularly liked.

"Well," he said reluctantly, "He couldn't really go diving in after the grenade once it was thrown. So the den exploded and then I realize I've got this truck of a beserker bearing down on me with murder in his eyes. I take off running and wind up climbing this derelict structure like a treed animal and Brick manages to snag me by one leg. Lilith and Roland are desperately trying to call him off, he's yelling in incoherent rage, and the next thing I know I'm flying through the air and bam – he slams me on my back into the ground and I'm just laying there trying to remember how to breath. Then he punches a fist down – right next to my head – and says something about next time and I don't remember the rest of the threat because my life is still flashing before my eyes."

Hetter seemed torn between laughing and staring at the sniper, aghast. Mordecai sat up, suddenly aware of just how uncharacteristically chatty he was being.

"Right, enjoy the gun," he said hastily, swinging his legs off the edge of the platform, "I'll see yah around."

He climbed gingerly down, Bloodwing fluttering after and landing on his shoulder once he was back on the ground. He reached up and caressed the bird's head. Mordecai didn't know what to think of himself. Look at this, being all friendly with a stranger and telling stories like they were pals at a bar. He shook his head softly as he limped away. Must be going stir-crazy here, cooped up here in this forsaken wasteland.

"Wait," Mordecai whispered, stopping in mid-step, "He was hung up too high for the skags to reach."

The sniper adjusted his course. He had to talk to Dr. Zed, immediately.


	3. The Ambush

"You've been cooped up in Fyrestone for too long," Dr. Zed said, fixing Mordecai with a long stare. "Come inside, I want to check that ankle."

"It's healing," the sniper growled, but reluctantly followed Zed inside the shack anyways. The table was mercifully clear and Mordecai levered himself up onto it, stripping off his boot and leaning back on this palms while Zed prodded at it. The pain was negligible, until Zed dug his fingers in around the tendons.

"Son of a _bitch_!" Mordecai howled and his hand went instinctively towards his revolver. Zed slapped it away with familiar ease.

"Ah, well, that's a shame," Zed sighed, "You're still not ready for action. How did the bandit hunting go?"

"You're dodging my question still." There was a bit of a growl in Mordecai's voice and that gave Dr. Zed pause.

"Alright, fine. Don't know what you got going on in your head Mordecai, but judging from my completely unofficial experience, a man beaten like Hetter was could survive exposure just as long as anyone else. It was all superficial. But trussed up like that it doesn't matter much, first skag hunting pack to chance by would have eaten him alive."

Mordecai said nothing to that. Zed fetched a health vial and waited for Mordecai to silently peel off the money he owed for it, then jammed the end into the exposed skin of Mordecai's ankle.

"If you're going to be bandit hunting," Dr. Zed continued, "Wrap that ankle up tight to give it some support. Here. Use this."

Mordecai took the bandage and did as he was bid, Dr. Zed watching impassively with his arms crossed.

"Wish I could see what is under that mask of yours," the man finally sighed, "From the way you're frowning I'd say something is bothering you, but then again, you're usually frowning."

"Only when I'm not off somewhere with a rifle in my hands," Mordecai whispered in response, tucking the end of the bandage in and putting his boot back on. He slid off the table, grateful that Zed had cleaned it prior to his visit, and made for the exit. He picked up his rifle on the way out. He walked a good distance into the clearing before the shack and squinted up at the watchtower. Hetter was still there, watching out into the desert. Mordecai blew out a soft breath. He felt paranoid to be even considering this, but it would itch at him until he knew for certain.

"Zed!" Mordecai called out, loud enough for his voice to carry, "I'm going out. Going to check on T.K. and then revisit the substation."

Zed yelled something back in response but it was indistinct and unimportant. Mordecai continued on, out through the front gate, and to where the runner was parked outside. He didn't particularly have a desire to see T.K., but he needed to give Hetter some time if his suspicions were going to be confirmed.

* * *

As it was, the visit with T.K. wasn't too terrible. Mordecai didn't precisely dislike the man, instead, he found him rather unnerving. It was difficult enough to survive on Pandora, much less survive with only one leg and no sight. Despite that, T.K. seemed to fend well enough, even though he used his disability to wheedle a few hours of help out of Mordecai. Normally, the sniper would have refused such a mundane request as helping dig a few ditches in the garden, but he reminded himself that he was killing time before heading out to the substation. T.K. talked about just about everything he could and Mordecai was content to let him, not wanting to bring up Fyrestone's new resident just yet. Not until he was certain. When he was ready to move on, T.K. followed him to the runner and stopped the sniper from driving off by leaning on the front wheel.

"Not like you to just come along and help a man out without a reward," T.K. commented.

Mordecai just grunted in response. Being known as taciturn had its advantages.

"Seems more to me you're waiting for something rather than having a sudden change in heart. Something I should know about, Mordecai?"

"Stay low for a bit,"Mordecai growled, "Keep your shotgun close."

And T.K. left it at that, backed up, and let the runner roar into life and plunge into the distance.

* * *

Mordecai had to admit that there were a fucking lot of bandits. He'd left his runner behind some time ago and continued on foot, grateful for the extra support on his ankle that Zed had foisted on him. Every time he reached a ridge or some other vantage point he dropped to a knee and scanned the area with his rifle's scope to ensure it was clear. He was more thorough than he normally would have been, and after about the first two hours of travel he was wondering if perhaps he was truly just being paranoid. Bandits weren't the smartest people on Pandora, maybe they believed that skag really could jump that high and pull Hetter down. Or...

He'd finally found the ambush. Mordecai leaned back, putting his weight on his heels and let the gun barrel slip against his shoulder. Same crew that was littered over this area of Pandora, only out in force now, and arranged to intercept anyone traveling by runner towards the substation.

"I'm a damn fool," Mordecai hissed to himself. At his shoulder, Bloodwing made a slight sound that could have been agreement.

At least he'd caught his mistake before it killed him. Though, after surveying the ambush point, he wasn't entirely certain he'd survive it even with the advantage on his side. It was a fucking lot of bandits. It had to be dealt with though. If he didn't deal with them here there was a chance they'd get antsy and come to him back at Fyrestone, and then what? Sit out a siege? He wasn't agile enough right now to cover the whole town and there was a good chance they'd box him in on one of his various perches. Sighing, Mordecai forced himself to release some of the tension in his shoulders. This had to be done, here and now. He stretched himself out on his stomach, bringing the rifle down into its familiar spot, the scope dancing along the lines of the opposite ridge.

They'd formed a kill pocket, a wide 'U' that hedged in the depression his runner would have gone through. He couldn't see them, but he had no doubt that somewhere was a bandit – or perhaps a team of them – with enough high explosives to disable his runner. From there, the kill pocket would have the advantage of high ground and could pin him down and finish him off where there was not enough to cover to shield his every side.

"Surprise," Mordecai whispered, and let the sight of his rifle fall across the biggest bandit he could find. He fired.

That first shot started the clock ticking. Soon, they'd figure out where the shots were coming from, and they would open fire. He was well-protected by the landscape but it would impede his line of sight nonetheless, and pin him in place. The larger and more aggressive bandits would start in his direction, covered by their companions, and once they reached a certain distance his rifle would be of limited use. He'd resort to his fallback revolver, but things would get dicey then. He had to eliminate enough bandits before it reached that point so he wouldn't be overwhelmed.

So he fired. The urgency did not seem to change his movements in any way, he simply adjusted the barrel and waited, patient until the shot lined up and his breath reached the exhale and only then did he fire. When the rifle clicked empty, he calmly reloaded and took up firing again. By his count, he'd killed ten of them before they realized where he was shooting from. Bullets whizzed over his head then and one pinged off the rock a bit too close for his comfort, and Mordecai flinched sharply and then went right back to firing. Eleven bandits down. Twelve. Still more were coming out of the rocks and Mordecai snarled his frustration. Thirteen.

"Yah like that?" Mordecai asked darkly, retraining his rifle on another round head, bobbing its way closer. Fourteen down. Bloodwing shifted nervously. Blood was in the air and the bandits were growing large in his cross-hair. The time for sniping was up.

Mordecai dropped the rifle and pushed himself up, walking backwards and sideways, pulling his revolver free and firing at the closest. With a cry he launched Bloodwing and the bird darted into the sky like a missile, then dropped in a bundle of feathers and fury. The revolver bucked in his hand and the bandit staggered, the blue shock of a shield shattering filling the air. Mordecai fired again and the man's chest dissolved into a wet mess of tissue and bone. The hostile fire had increased significantly and he broke into a ran, returning fire as he went. Bright pin-points of light indicated where bullets had struck his shield. The gauge in the corner of his vision was steadily decreasing.

He ducked behind an outcropping to reload, risking a glance into the valley to see his handiwork. There seemed to be more bandits down than up now. This was good. He might survive this.

Someone dropped on him from above. The impact hit him squarely in the back, throwing him face-first into the dirt and he lost both his gun and his breath at the blow. Two bullets slammed into his back and the shield was expended, flashing hot across Mordecai's exposed skin for a half-second. A warning symbol started flashing on the HUD. He attempted to roll to his feet and got halfway up, twisting and reaching for his sword. The bandit was still moving though and closed the distance, kicking directly at Mordecai's injured ankle. Mordecai's vision exploded into a red haze and he collapsed. Another blow landed, this time in his ribs, and he was thrown over onto his stomach, the pain making his muscles go limp and his mind glaze over in a fog for a few seconds. The revolver wasn't far, just beyond the reach of his outstretched hand. Mordecai struggled to throw himself forwards, to reach his gun, but another bandit had reached him now and casually stepped on Mordecai's hand with the heel of his boot. He screamed as the bones popped. The other bandit put a knee to Mordecai's back and grabbed a handful of his top-knot, jerking his head back.

"We're going to take our time with you," the bandit hissed into his ear, savagely giving his hair another yank, "There won't be anything left to leave for the skags."

"My companions will kill you all before you get a chance," Mordecai hissed in response. The bandit laughed.

"They ain't here, pretty boy. And you're all banged up right now, aren't you?"

Someone kicked his injured ankle to demonstrate and Mordecai jerked, a short scream being torn from him despite his efforts to remain quiet. So he was right. Hetter was a bandit spy. Cold rage boiled up inside him, flushing away the hot pain that threatened to plunge him into darkness. This deceit could no go unanswered.

"Let's see what you look like under that mask," the bandit said.

Mordecai twisted, using the attempt at evasion to glance about and count his opponents. Four bandits now. The rest were either hanging back or tending to wounded. They'd moved his weapons well out of his reach and there was no telling where Bloodwing was – probably gorging himself on bandit eyes and no one had thought to dislodge him from the bodies yet.

The bandit that held him down switched his grip to Mordecai's arms and hauled him upright. The sniper sagged, not having to even feign the weakness in his ankle, and forced his captor to take the brunt of supporting his weight to keep him distracted. His shield fluttered and the warning icon vanished. It'd come back up, but it was designed to stop high-velocity projectiles and would do nothing for the bandits that held him now. He went still, watching the one that approached with a knife in his hand. The blade was rested against his chin, slipping down to direct the point against his throat, and after a moment Mordecai felt warmth tickling the base of his neck. Fingers dug at the back of his mask and he closed his eyes, wrapping his fingers around the metal sphere that hung low on his belt. Everyone was watching to see what the dreaded sniper Mordecai looked like under his mask. The bandit holding him up was focused in simply keeping him standing.

"Got some scars, dontcha?" the bandit commented, tossing the hood away, "One or two or ten more won't matter, will it?"

The knife flicked up, this time closer to his bare eyes, and Mordecai smiled at the bandit. That made him pause and Mordecai could only imagine the consternation he felt at that moment. No captive about to be sliced to pieces should look that smug.

"Hope you assholes have got good shields," Mordecai laughed, and gently rolled the grenade into the middle of them, just outside the range of his own shield.

There was a deadly pause and then everyone moved at once. Mordecai threw himself to the side and that was all he could accomplish before the world around him erupted into fire. The explosion threw him and he hit the ground, rolled, and smashed up against some rocks. His shield was down again and the only sound he could hear was the ringing in his ears. Blood was trickling from both and more was running down his chin from busting his lip in the impact with the ground. His ankle surged with agony at the slightest movement and his ribs were so tight with pain he could barely breath. Dazed, he looked about, and saw that the bandits had fared far worse. There was simply nothing recognizable left of them.

He wasn't done yet. Gritting his teeth, he put his weight on his hands and knees, crying out involuntarily as his left hand announced that it'd been broken when the bandit had stepped on it. He tucked it tight to his chest and crawled to where his revolver had been thrown by the explosion. He reached it just in time, for the remaining bandits crested the ridge and were bringing their weapons up to bear. Mordecai just smiled at them and fired. One. Bullets rained down and his shield was not up yet. Two. One sliced through the thigh, another landed in his hip.

Bloodwing hit the third and last bandit. Mordecai smiled and let the revolver fall from his hand, suddenly finding that he no longer had the strength to hold it steady.

"Good boy," he whispered, and then his body sagged to the side and he fell to the ground unconscious.


	4. The Reunion

Mordecai came to utterly disoriented with no idea how much time had passed. His head was swimming and he rolled to his side, propping himself up with his forearms and his stomach heaved in reaction to the pain. He vomited thin bile, nothing more, and spat the rest of the blood out of his mouth. Bloodwing hopped to his side, blood smeared on his beak, and watched him curiously.

"Good boy," Mordecai reiterated weakly, "Fetch me my gun, will you?"

The bird did not move. Sighing, Mordecai attempted to stand and buckled and fell the instant he put weight on his ankle. He felt warm all over, his mouth was dry, and he lay there panting, trying to focus on his breathing and keep from passing out again. The spell passed and he got to his hands and knees, crawling over to where the bandits had discarded his rifle. It was tortuously slow and he shuddered, imagining he felt the hot breath of a skag on the back of his neck with each movement. He felt exposed, vulnerable, and he glanced at the blackened crater with some regret. There was no way his hood and goggles had survived that. There was no way to tell if his shield was back up either, not with his HUD destroyed, as it was part of his goggles. For all he knew, that grenade blast could have overloaded and fried it.

Once he reached his rifle, he was able to use it as something to lean on, and could manage a sort of shuffle without putting much weight on his injured ankle. The bullet wound in his thigh had gone cleanly through and the blood had clotted, but the one in his hip ground against bone with each movement. More than anything, he wished that Brick were here right now to pick him up and carry him over one shoulder. He'd welcome Lilith's scathing glare if it meant he didn't have to put himself through the agony of taking another step.

It would also mean he stood a chance at getting back to Fyrestone alive. He didn't need a HUD or Dr. Zed to tell him he was in bad shape. Weak from blood loss, broken bones, and his runner was hours of hiking away. If skags found him, he be done for.

There was movement in the corner of his vision. He turned to look and stared in surprise as a runner shot up over the hill, landing with a bounce and careening closer. He could hear the engine now that it was getting closer and he rubbed at his ears, feeling flakes of blood peel off as he did. Everything was coming from a distance, like he was underwater.

"If those are bandits," Mordecai sighed, barely able to hear himself speak, "I'm done for."

Reluctantly, he unholstered his revolver and dropped to one knee to save his ankle, ready to make a last stand. The runner turned and slid to a stop and Mordecai dropped the gun, laughing with relief. The laugh quickly turned into a cough and he doubled over, clutching his broken ribs.

Lilith reached him first. She was riding up in the gun turret with Roland, the two crammed in uncomfortably and neither able to actually fire the gun from riding double in something meant for one person. Mordecai sagged and she wrapped her arms around him, letting him fall back against her shoulder. He could hear her talking and with a bit of effort he could make out words.

"-Zed contacted us saying you'd gone out and had should have been home by now. Said there was bandit activity again and feared something had happened. Our lead was a dead end, so we came back looking for you."

"Thanks," he whispered, "Might have taken on a bit too much here."

Roland knelt at Mordecai's side, taking out a health vial and gingerly finding a bare spot in his arm to stab the needle. The drugs moved quickly and Mordecai sighed with relief as they stole the pain away.

"You're _supposed_ to be recovering," the soldier said gruffly, "Now look. You're a mess."

"You've got some new bandages too, Roland," Mordecai replied, and the man only scowled even deeper.

"I got more of me to get hit. You're skinny, they shoot you, they shoot something important. That bullet still in the hip?"

"Oh god, you're going to pull it out, aren't you?"

"Damn right I am."

Mordecai looked away, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Lilith found his hand with her own and he clasped them together, then tight against his shoulder and braced for the pain. It snaked into the wound like fire and he gasped, clutching Lilith's hand as if he could transfer some of the sensation to her.

"So I shot someone between the eyes," she said, trying to distract the sniper, "It was so gorgeous. So clean. You'd be jealous."

"At what range?" Mordecai asked through gritted teeth.

"Pardon?"

"What. Range."

"Point-blank," Brick supplied from above. Mordecai didn't have to look to know what Lilith's scowl was like.

"All done," Roland said and Mordecai breathed a sigh of relief. He opened his eyes and regarded the slug that Roland held between two fingers in front of his face. It was slick with blood. After a moment Mordecai reached out to take it from him.

"You got one hell of a story it seems," Roland continued, packing gauze over the hole and taping it down, "Lot of dead bandits in that valley. What happened to your mask?"

"Got blown up by a grenade. Listen, I'm not done here yet. Can you do me a favor?"

The three exchanged glances. Roland finally shrugged.

"Back in Fyrestone," Mordecai told them, "there's a man named Hetter. Bring him here. Don't tell him anything, just bring him here. He has a pistol, let him keep it, but be careful he doesn't try and use it."

He could tell they wanted to ask questions. But no one did and Roland just divided them up, sending Brick back in the runner to fetch Hetter and directed Lilith to stand watch in case skags or more bandits showed up. He'd tend to Mordecai, since it was apparent they wouldn't be getting back to Fyrestone just yet and there was still more that needed to be done to keep him breathing. As he did, Mordecai told him about everything that had happened, to keep his mind from whatever pain broke through the haze of the health vial. It would go a long way towards knitting together bone and flesh, but these things needed to be set first and Roland went bone by bone, checking the ribs, setting the ankle and then turning his attention to the delicate bones of Mordecai's shattered hand. That took the longest and Mordecai finished his story halfway through. Roland let him lay back then, and finished the task in silence, finally tying off the last of the bandage, the thin fingers splinted. Mordecai was relieved that it at least wasn't his dominant hand that had been crushed. He could manage a rifle like this.

"Zed has some stronger stuff stashed away," Roland said, "We'll make him bring it out. We missed your rifle this last trip. Lilith won't say, but the reason she shot someone point-blank is because he flanked us and there was no one there to pick him off long before he got that close."

Mordecai just smiled.

"So you know how you're going to handle this Hetter?"

"Yes," Mordecai laughed, "I know exactly what to do."

* * *

Everything was positioned according to Mordecai's instructions. Mordecai sat on a boulder with his back to Lilith and Roland. A repeater was in his lap. His revolver was too powerful for this, he needed a gun that would leave smaller holes. Brick pulled up the runner a short distance away, leaving the area before Mordecai completely clear. To the sniper's left lay the valley with all the dead contained inside it. There was some protests from Hetter as Brick shoved him forwards and then the man fell silent as he saw the valley spread out before him with all its dead. Mordecai could not hear his footsteps as he approached, so he turned his head to watch Hetter approach. He made a wide circle until he stood before Mordecai, the look on his face one of numb resolve. Mordecai wondered how he, in turn, looked to Hetter. Stripped of his mask, his eyes bare. The executioner face-to-face with his prey.

"The boss decide to try a different approach this time, did he?" Mordecai asked, his voice soft and low. Hetter did not reply.

"None escaped," Mordecai continued, jerking his head to indicate the valley, "I made sure of that. Why aren't you running, Hetter?"

"You're a sniper," Hetter replied tightly.

"My aim is good at any distance. You're going to die. Out there, there's cover. I'll give you a head start, how about that?"

"No."

Mordecai tilted his head to one side, giving him an expression of feigned curiosity.

"And why not?"

"Because I want you to have to shoot me here," he replied, "Up close and personal like this. I don't think you can."

Mordecai laughed. It hurt his chest to do so, but the pain was worth it, and he laughed. When he was done he fixed Hetter with a steely stare.

"You think," Mordecai said slowly, "that because I am a sniper, it means I cannot stomach killing someone so close. Cannot make such a... personal... kill. Because I befriended you, I can only shoot you in the back. Let me enlighten you, Hetter. Being a sniper does not mean my kills are impersonal. The ones Lilith does – the ones Brick do – are personal for only a few brief seconds, when they see the terror etched in the bodies of their victims and then the victim is dead and gone and it's over. It's a brutal, short-lived kill, and the intensity of it is what forms that bond between killer and prey. Snipers... we live beside our target. We watch them, see their mannerisms, how they walk, how they stand. Who they talk to in those long hours of their watch and then, when we finally know them as best we can, we take our shot. It is a lingering death. My targets die from the moment they step into my cross-hair and this death can take minutes or it can take hours, depending on how long I need to wait before I start my attack. They die, and I watch them walk about not knowing they're already dead. They don't know it until my bullet splatters their brains all across the wall. You think I don't know the intimacy of death, Hetter? That it frightens me?" He stood, slowly, the gun dangling in his hand. "Try me."

Hetter grabbed for his pistol, the one Mordecai had brought him, fear finally flooding his face. Mordecai was faster and the repeater bullet went through Hetter's wrist. He cried out, clutching at the wound, blood winding down his arm in rivulets. Mordecai shot again, this time putting the bullet through Hetter's ankle. When the man collapsed into the dirt, Mordecai limped over and gently kicked the pistol a short distance out of his reach. He stared down at Hetter and shot him again, once in the leg, once in the hip. Then he squatted and the two men regarded each other, Hetter's face twisted in pain.

"There's a sort of justice on Pandora, I think," Mordecai said, "You have to find it yourself, but it's there. Your bandit friends beat you and left you for the skags, careful to tie you up high enough so that they wouldn't actually get you before one of us came along and found you. I think justice... would be letting things come full circle, don't you?"

He stepped back a pace and unslung his rifle from across his back. Lifted it and gazed down the scope. There, far in the distance, was a skag den. Mordecai waited for his aim to drift across his target and then he fired, landing a bullet into the flank of one of the skags just outside. In a moment the rest of the pack boiled from their dens, moving like a wave in the direction the shot had come. The wind had shifted and was carrying the scent of blood in their direction. It would not take long for them to get here. Mordecai slung the rifle back over his shoulder and turned to go.

Behind him, Hetter was screaming, begging for Mordecai to make it quick. To just let him die. Mordecai did not heed his cries and instead made his way to where the rest of his companions waited. They'd fetched his runner and the two sat idling side by side, Lilith in the driver's seat of one, Brick in the other. Mordecai took his spot at the gunner's seat and rested his rifle on the rail. They were not done here yet. Hetter was struggling to reach the pistol, to have some means to either defend himself against the skags or to put a bullet in his own head and end it quick. Mordecai fired just as Hetter reached the weapon, the bullet slamming into the body of the pistol and sending it flying, far out of reach, far away enough that the skags would be there well before Hetter could crawl to it.

Still, Lilith did not drive the runner away. They waited, the four of them, until the skags made it there and the first of them latched into Hetter's body, ripping their jaws back and forth, pulling long strips of muscle off the legs. Mordecai watched this and did not regret any of it. Finally, only after Hetter was well and truly gone, did Lilith and Brick engage the runner's engines and ease the vehicles out, back towards Fyrestone, where Dr. Zed and his scary needles were waiting. Where Mordecai could finally heal.


End file.
